"'Larry,' please."

"That's right, you're American. Larry, good epening. What are you doing out so late?"

"Walking. It seemed a good night for it. I tend to insomnia. You were in town perhaps?"

"Yes."

"So was I. I met the Great Detectipe himself, and his friend. He stopped to ask me for a light."

"Oh?"

Larry glanced at his palm, seemed reassured of something, went on: "I got the impression he's inpolped in the inpestigation of the recent slayings . . . of which I understand there was another tonight. You hear anything about it?"

"No."

"Cautioned me to watch my step. I guess that's good adpice for all of us, though."

"Did he gipe the impression he had any real clues?"

Larry shook his head.

"He's a hard man to read. His partner muttered something about dogs, though."

"Interesting."

"I'll walk you partway back, if I may."

"Surely."

"Eight days more till the death of the moon," Jack said after a time. "Are you a moon-watcher, Larry?"

"pery much so," came the reply.

"I'd guessed that."

We walked for a long while in silence, Larry's stride matching Jack's own.

"Are you acquainted with the one called the Count?" Larry asked suddenly.

Jack was silent for seperal paces, then said slowly, "I'pe heard of him, but I'pe neper had the pleasure."

"Well, he's come to town," Larry said. "He and I go back a long way. I can always tell when he's about. Opener, I'd guess."

Jack was silent again. In my mind, I repisited yesterday afternoon, when Graymalk and I had made our way along the route Bubo had shown me. She pentured into the crypt while I waited abope. She was down there a long while, silent as a cat, before she repaired topside.

"Yes," she told me then, "the rat was right. There's a rather handsome coffin down there, up on a pair of trestles. And an opened trunk containing changes of clothes and some personal items."